


no matter how bright

by skogr



Category: Mass Effect: Andromeda
Genre: M/M, Multiple Timelines, pre-Andromeda and post-Andromeda timelines, this is not so much a 'fix it' as a 'soothe it'
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-16
Updated: 2018-06-05
Packaged: 2018-11-01 14:55:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 20,195
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10924164
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skogr/pseuds/skogr
Summary: Havarl is never truly quiet, which is one of the reasons Avitus Rix likes it.He hates it too, of course. Because it's hot in a humid, stifling way that asari like and turians don't, because everything is mutated and deadly and trying to take a chunk out of him, because he's already spent longer there than any sane person would ever care to.Because it's where all his stupid, fragile hopes for Heleus turned to smouldering wreckage.





	1. i.

_Havarl, 2819_

Havarl is never truly quiet, which is one of the reasons Avitus Rix likes it.

He fucking _hates_ it too, of course. Because it's hot in a humid, stifling way that asari like and turians don't, because everything is mutated and deadly and trying to take a chunk out of him, because he's already spent longer there than any sane person would ever care to.

Because it's where all his stupid, fragile hopes for Heleus turned to smouldering wreckage, literally and figuratively, but he's twenty klicks south of the crash site and keeping it that way. Literally and figuratively, but figuratively most importantly.

So he hates Havarl, but the constant living chatter is both companionable and useful. The last two letters of the Spectre title aren't just for show, and he has always specialised in going unnoticed until he wants to be, and Havarl is just making that easy. He times his footsteps with the hissing of the insects, reloads his rifle to the sound of a kett transport powering up.

This isn't the kind of operation that Pathfinders were intended for, but they're humoring him. The salarian especially, and he wouldn't stand for it ordinarily, but if he spends too long stuck on the Nexus or making nice at the outposts his patience starts to wear dangerously thin.

He's doing his best to wear the Pathfinder title in a way that fits him, trying to do right by his people and by Ma- his _predecessor_ \- but sometimes he thinks all he was ever really good at was being a Spectre. He's doing his best. He's doing what amounts to his best, anyway, after everything that's happened.

If military style stealth reconnaissance is what the Initiative needs, it's what he'll give them.

“Pathfinder,” SAM says, “I'm detecting unusual readings for the river ahead.”

“What kind of unusual?”

“Further scans are required.”

“We'll take a detour,” Avitus says, irritated the minute it's out his mouth. It's not _them_ or _we_ , it's _him_ , and this is his mission. _He'll_ take a detour. He needs to stop thinking of SAM as company.

They near the river and Avitus runs the scans SAM requested, crouching by the bank and keeping a wary eye on the exposed other side.

“The algae in this river is acting as a purifying agent. It is not yet widespread on Havarl, but could be propagated elsewhere easily and assist future colonisation efforts.”

“Purifying how?”

“It is separating harmful compounds into simple minerals. Ingestion would still be harmful, but removal of the processed form is far simpler on a large scale.”

“Interesting,” Avitus says, and finds that he means it. It's moments like this when he almost remembers why he came here in the first place. The sort of stuff that fascinated Mac- that made him want to see the process of making a new and strange system their home.

“I'd suggest taking several samples back to the research station.”

“Several?”

“There is considerable variation between the algae nearer the surface and nearer the riverbed.”

“I was hoping you wouldn't say that,” Avitus says, and steps one reluctant leg into the water. He hates water. He hates _being_ in water, however shallow, unless it's in a small, sanitized shower, and there's no chance of drowning. He can't contain his shudder.

“There is also a waterfall further upstream with another algae variation growing at the crest.”

“Are you kidding me?” Avitus demands, and then narrows his eyes. “Wait. You're messing with me.”

“Yes,” SAM says, and Avitus almost laughs. Almost.

“You're not funny,” he mutters, “and I don't know where you got your sense of humor from-”

He stops mid-sentence with a rush of agitation. He knows exactly who SAM got its humor from. The same place it learned most everything else before Avitus came along.

“I'll get the samples,” he says, voice hard as stone. “If it'll help.”

“Perhaps you can assist with the propagation.”

“And why would I do that?”

“One of Pathfinder Barro’s logs indicated that he wished to cultivate -”

“Macen was a dreamer,” Avitus snaps, and then hates himself for it, just a little. “I'm not - he liked plants. I don't.”

“Recent correspondence from your assigned grief counsellor suggests taking up a hobby that -”

“I don't like plants, SAM,” he says, and bottles the algae sample with demonstrative curtness. “Okay?”

There's a long silence. He hopes the AI hasn't gone through all his logs, too.

“You have missed three scheduled counseling sessions, Pathfinder,” SAM says eventually, “if there is a time that would suit you better, I can coordinate making a new appointment with Doctor T’Kiro.”

“I don't need a new appointment.”

“Macen would not want you to -”

“How about,” Avitus says, with more venom than he's proud of, “you stay quiet unless you've got something useful to say, okay?”

What is it they say about moving on, about getting over your grief? That you need to let go? Letting go is fucking _impossible_ when the person you're trying to forget is stuck in your head forever, bound up in the AI implant you never really wanted. It's unthinkable. Macen is in his head, literally and figuratively, but most of all figuratively. How do you move on from that?

But Havarl is never really quiet, and it's just loud enough to drown out his thoughts.

 

-

 

_The Citadel, 2168_

Avitus Rix is drinking at a bar with Saren Arterius after their first proper mission together, and there's pretty much nothing that can ruin this for him. People walk past and they stare, because Arterius is a big deal, and so by association is Avitus, at least by his reckoning. He's a Spectre. A Council agent. He just righted a few wrongs in the galaxy, and Saren Arterius told him he did a good job.

If you've told him a year ago that his application to be considered for the Spectres would take him _here_ , he'd have laughed in your face.

“The Council don't want the truth,” Saren says, “they want results. You understand?”

“Yes sir.”

“The details are our burden,” Saren says, and Avitus is just nodding fervently because it sounds so fucking _cool._ It's their burden. They carry the truth on their shoulders for the good of the galaxy, and no one else knows the lengths they go to to keep them safe. “It's an honor and a responsibility.”

“Yes sir.”

Saren gives him a look. “Remember that. There'll be a lot of things they'll ask of you that you won't like doing, and no one will thank you for.”

“It's my duty, sir,” Avitus all but gushes, and that seems to satisfy his mentor well enough that he stops looking at him with that piercing way he has.

“Enough with the ‘sirs', Rix.”

Avitus grins sheepishly. “Right.”

“You're a Spectre now.”

“Force of habit, si- er, Arterius.”

Even that slip up can't mar the feeling of being half of a duo of Spectres getting drinks on the Citadel. It's everything he's dreamed of for the past ten years, from the moment he entered boot camp. He's six years older than Saren was, sure, but he's still climbed the ranks remarkably fast. It's caused a mild stir on Palaven and he's had family members he didn't know he had sending him congratulatory messages.

All in all, it's entirely possible his ego is a little inflated.

Not that he's ever had much trouble in the confidence department, but right now he's miles away from the assured but demure turian humility he's been raised to admire. He's feeling like everyone _should_ be looking at him and liking what they see, so it's with vague confusion that he meets the eyes of another turian across the bar. He's _scowling_ at him.

He turns away and expects it to stop, but when he looks up furtively again, the scowl is still there. He's putting down his drink - oh _shit_ \- and he's making his way over to them. Avitus groans into his own drink which catches Saren’s attention, who seems mostly just amused.

“I know you,” the turian is saying, his tone accusatory, “you're that _Spectre_ -”

“That's classified,” Avitus says, because it sounds suitably smooth and also like it might also head off whatever fight this asshole is looking for. It achieves neither.

“It's literally public record,” the turian says, shooting him a dirty look, “Avitus Rix, right? I know all about you.” He turns to give Arterius an equally unimpressed up and down. “And you too, Saren Arterius.”

Arterius just looks bored by the entire interaction, so Avitus tries to do the same.

“Is there a point to this?”

“A point?” The turian draws himself up above them, which isn't all that impressive, given they're sitting down and he's standing up. He's clearly never tried to actually intimidate someone in a bar before, but Avitus likes that he has the guts to try. It's laughable that he's facing down two Council Spectres, one of whom is Saren Arterius, but he has to respect the gall of it. “You're responsible for that power station by Praxis.”

Saren cracks a smile then, though it's not a particularly nice one. “I'll leave you to your adoring public,” he says, and pats a stunned Avitus on the back as he slides from his seat.

Avitus glares after him as he leaves, but the agitated turian hardly pauses.

“How do you justify what you did?” he demands, pointing a finger in Avitus’ face.

“Listen, I don't know what you're talking about. I'm not at liberty to discuss what happened there -”

“Typical.”

“ - but I can tell you that we stopped a group of dangerous batarian insurgents. We made the Verge safer. I can justify that just fine.”

“What about the well?”

“What about the well?” Avitus is aware they're starting to draw stares, and not the kind he wanted. “Look, just - sit down. Who the hell are you, anyway?”

“Barro, Macen Barro.” No rank, Avitus notices wryly. Says a lot. He hesitates, but doesn't take the seat. “You - _surely_ you know you vented the waste into the water supply.”

“It was a necessary risk, and it paid off.”

“Paid off. You think?”

“Yes,” Avitus says, growing increasingly agitated himself. “We achieved our objective and alerted the nearby colony to install additional filters. No casualties or ill effects on any colonists, so yeah, it paid off.”

“And what about the wildlife? What about the local flora that relies on that well for water? There's are _ten_ rare species that only occur in these specific conditions!”

“Oh,” Avitus says, and then after a moment's consideration, adds: “I didn't know.”

Barro snorts. “Of course you didn't. You just saw your chance for glory without a thought for the consequences -”

“I'll get a team sent out.”

“ - you didn't _care_ about - wait, what?”

“If there was damage to the ecosystem, the Council will want it fixed.”

“Oh,” Barro says, and stares at him. “Well. Good.” He sits down with a look of confusion about him. “Just like that, huh?”

“I can't promise it'll be straight away, but I'll do my best.”

“Well,” Barro says again, his mandibles hanging out in slack disbelief. “I, uh, I had a lot more stuff to yell at you about. I'm not sure what to say now.”

Avitus slides Saren’s untouched drink across the bar towards him, and takes the opportunity to give Barro a good long look. He's young enough that his apparent lack of military title is unusual, but he has a vaguely military look about him that makes Avitus think he hasn’t ducked out of service early. If you don’t bother giving your title to a fellow turian whilst uniformed it’s either not worth mentioning or good enough it would seem like bragging. He’s probably a few years younger than Avitus, good-looking in a wiry, sharp way, colony markings from the affluent Cipritine outskirts, and by all accounts definitely an idealist. He's intrigued.

“Are you serious?” Barro says incredulously, and then accepts the drink quickly before Avitus can change his mind. He is reminded - _painfully_ \- of himself in that moment, Barro’s nervous air of trying to look casual next to the intimidating Spectre a mirror image of himself beside Saren. Avitus winces.

“So, Barro -”

“Macen.”

“Macen,” he repeats, almost mockingly, “are you a botanist?”

“Hardly.”

“Conservationist?”

“I'm in terraforming research,” Macen says, and Avitus notes his defensiveness with interest. “Conservation is just a hazard of the job.”

“This a Council venture?”

“Engineering Corps, but a lot of the projects have Council backing.”

“So you’re TEC, huh,” Avitus says, watching Macen carefully. “Didn’t know the Hierarchy was pushing expansion.”

“Expansion, reparation, maintenance; terraforming isn’t what most people think it is. Palaven’s one of the biggest ongoing projects after all the damage we’ve done to it over the years.”

“So you’re not trying to create new ecosystems?”

“Sometimes, but it's about appropriating what already exists and making it work in another context. At least, that's what I do. You can build all the expensive filters you want but true sustainability only comes with an organic base.”

“And the species on Praxis will help with that?”

“Some of them, yeah. I'm working on a -” Macen stops suddenly and narrows his eyes. “What do you care?”

Avitus watches him over his drink with a slight smile. “Maybe I'm interested.”

That both fluster and annoys him. “I don't buy it.”

“How about you give me your email? I'll let you know about the progress on Praxis, get in touch if we need an expert opinion.”

Macen gives him a long, hard stare. “This has better not be some kind of bullshit come on.”

“It's not,” Avitus says, although it definitely is. Macen’s slightly slack jawed expression says he isn't convinced either. “I just want to do what I can to help.”

“You can start by getting that well properly cleaned.”

“Consider it done.”

“And encouraging regrowth of the natural flora down the inside.”

“I'll do what I can.”

Macen's expression is hard to read. “Movement stimulates regrowth much more effectively in species like this.”

“Meaning?”

“Meaning you should tickle them. To simulate the flowing water. There’s been studies done.”

“What?” Avitus blinks. “I, er -”

“I'm kidding,” Macen says, and then cracks a grin for the first time. “You don't have to tickle the plants.”

“Good,” Avitus says, taking a drink to cover how wrongfooted he feels. “I hate water.”

“That's the most sincere thing you've said this whole time.” Macen turns away with a grin, apparently considering something. After a moment, he opens up his omnitool. “I'd better not regret this.”

“Regret what?”

“Giving you my email,” Macen says, with a funny little smile of his own. “So you can consult me on the Praxis clean up, of course.”

“Of course,” Avitus says.

 

-

 

_The Nexus, 2819_

His apartment on the Nexus is a lot like his apartment on the Citadel. Kind of flashy in a tragic sort of way; the latter because he thought it was the sort of place a Spectre ought to have, and the former because they think it's the sort of place a Pathfinder ought to have. He's not sure which is more embarrassing.

The hydroponics shelving looks empty and almost forlorn, so he's taken to storing his helmets and various bits of tech up there. He's not sure if that makes him feel any better.

Ryder catches up with him later in Pathfinder HQ when he's tired of staring at the walls and empty shelves. Keep busy, that's what they say. He's got a whole new galaxy to occupy him and he's still finding his days littered with these ragged holes of nothing, spaces where there should be something else and he can't seem to fill them.

“Hey Avitus,” she says, offering him a friendly grin, “how was Havarl?”

“Productive,” he says, “I can send you the full report.”

“Sure,” she says, and then squints at him. “You're not sticking around for the meeting with Tann?”

“Don't think so,” he says, and he likes Ryder enough that he'd like to tell her about the empty shelves and all the blank space in his apartment, but he's never been good at talking about that sort of stuff. “I've got a lot to do.”

“I know that feeling.”

“The life of a Pathfinder,” he says wryly, and her grin falters for a second as she watches him.

“Never lets up, huh?” Ryder leans against the table and rubs the back of her neck. “How about you take it easy, okay? Maybe stay on the Nexus a bit longer -” He gives her a sharp look, and she winces. “SAM says you've been skipping your grief counselling.”

“Doctor T’Kiro is growing concerned that she has yet to even receive a written response from you,” SAM says, and Avitus feels all the muscles in his jaw tighten with both irritation and perhaps a touch of shame, because he really should have at least extended the courtesy of replying, but still. SAM is most definitely outside its jurisdiction.

The annoying thing about being pissed at an AI implant in your head is not knowing who to glare at. He settles for Ryder, who's holding her hands up by her face helplessly.

“Look, I pulled the short straw. I said I'd talk to you about it, so I'm talking to you about it.”

“I don't need to go to grief counselling.”

“Okay, okay. I'm just saying, it could be helpful -”

“Did you find it helpful?” he cuts across her, fully expecting - and counting on - the resulting wince this time. There's a brief silence as she twists her mouth sheepishly.

“You got me,” she says, and then breathes out a nervous laugh. “Who knew AIs were such tattletails?”

“I am concerned for your wellbeing first and foremost,” SAM says contritely, which Avitus ignores.

“We're just worried about you,” Ryder continues, and Avitus tries to make himself appreciate this, he really does.

“I'm fine.”

“If counselling doesn't work for you, fine, but if you ever need to talk…”

“Thanks, Ryder,” he says, though he knows he'll never take her up on it. There's another silence as she chews on her thumbnail. “Your concern is - noted.”

“‘Noted’. I'll take what I can get.” Ryder smiles mildly. “I hear there's quite a buzz about some plant you found. Hydroponics are asking for you.”

“I can't imagine why, I'm hardly an expert. The AI tells me to take a sample, I take a sample.”

“I find it's easier just to take the credit,” Ryder says, and winks at him. He chuckles.

“Also noted.” He straightens up and nods at her. ”Anyway, duty calls. Good luck out there.”

“You too,” she says, and then hesitates long enough that he takes it as the end of their conversation, and starts to walk away. “Wait, Avitus -”

He pauses at the top of the stairs. “Yeah?”

“I don't know if I should mention this, but SAM’s been showing me things. Memories.” Her voice goes quiet. “My dad's memories, that is. I don't know if yours - or if Macen - well, anyway. I just thought you should know.”

“Thanks, Ryder,” he manages eventually, his voice hoarse and his chest thumping. “See you around.”

He can barely see straight to walk out HQ.

“Pathfinder -” SAM begins, but Avitus shakes his head vehemently.

“Don't tell me,” he says, ”I don't want to know.”

SAM stays mercifully silent, and Avitus doesn't know which answer he's more afraid.

 

-

 

_From: Macen Barro_

_To: Avitus Rix_

_Did you send me_ flowers?

_Macen_

_-_

_From: Avitus Rix_

_To: Macen Barro_

_If by ‘flowers' you mean a rare species of carnivorous promelius, and if by ‘send' you mean expedited at great expense in laboratory grade nutrient gel to ensure it was in a good enough condition for your research purposes, then yes. You're welcome._

_AR_

_-_

_From: Macen Barro_

_To: Avitus Rix_

_I didn't think you were listening when I was talking about my work. Did you know the genus was named after Promelius the famously self sufficient general who survived three weeks in the Caecan Wilds living off bugs? Ironically, most of them aren't very hardy plants._

_Anyway, thank you. It's tried to eat my fingers twice, but I did say I wanted a little adventure._

_Macen_

_P.S. It's still a flowering species, by the way. If I didn't know better, I'd say this was a romantic gesture._

_-_

_From: Avitus Rix_

_To: Macen Barro_

_Glad you two are getting along._

_I'm back on the Citadel in a few weeks if you've another botany lecture prepared. The last one was riveting._

_Perhaps over a drink._

_AR_

_-_

_From: Macen Barro_

_To: Avitus Rix_

_I can't tell if you're being sarcastic or serious. Careful what you wish for, Rix._

_Either way, looking forward to it._

_Macen_

 

-

 

_The Citadel, 2170_

They have a routine. It's good.

Avitus gets plenty of his own assignments these days instead of just being attached to his mentor's, so often when he docks on the Citadel he hasn't anyone else to account for. It’s easier than making his excuses to Saren, who sees right through them with those piercing eyes that radiate disapproval. He clearly doesn’t like Macen, not that it’s any of his business who Avitus spends his time with, though he hasn’t said anything to explicitly confirm this. Avitus’ best theory is that he thinks Macen is wasting his potential by moving sideways from military field engineering to the eclectic bunch of terraforming work he mostly does now. He pulled Macen’s file with an abashed sort of curiosity; if he’d really wanted, he could’ve been exactly where Avitus is now. Saren doesn’t understand why you’d make that sort of choice, and granted, neither does Avitus, but he’s not so sure it’s wasted potential. Recent additions to Macen’s record are just as glowing as the older ones. There’s more than one way to make a name for yourself.

Macen is based on the Citadel when he isn't doing fieldwork or off on mandatory combat training - even the research branches of TEC aren’t allowed to get rusty - though Avitus suspects he makes more of an effort to schedule this around his own comings and goings than Macen would ever admit.

They start by getting a drink, maybe grab some food, Macen always has something he's newly passionate about, and sometimes Avitus listens carefully and sometimes he just lets the words wash over him and soothe the parts of him that are feeling worse for wear after his last assignment. He’d thought it was all talk, but that’s the thing about being a Spectre that’s thrown him for a loop: the way the responsibility of it all weighs so heavily on him, sometimes. Macen talking his ear off is - nice. It’s easy. It’s something to look forward to.

Then they bicker, but in a good way, like they've spent too long with slow back and forth emails and they're starved for real time conversation. He plays the cynic to Macen's optimist more often than not, and he'll keep it up even when his heart isn't really in it just because he likes seeing Macen bristle self righteously.

Then Avitus will make some bullshit excuse for them to go back to his apartment, or sometimes he'll just get up and start walking and Macen will follow seamlessly, still talking a mile a minute and seemingly unperturbed by the change in scenery.

He's pretty sure Macen isn't seeing anyone else, and he knows he isn't. They haven't discussed it, but it seems pretty implicit by the time they've made it through his apartment door and the bickering stops abruptly. He's usually pretty worked up by then after months of careful self control and focused solitude, and Macen always seems to match that, so he's guessing his enthusiasm comes from a similar place.

Then there's a peacefulness about it all, Macen draped lazily across his expensive furniture as the conversation takes a softer turn. Listening to him talk about the galaxy makes Avitus almost fond of it, and in turn he breaks a few rules and talks about his own work, holding details back not out of respect for the Council but of respect for Macen's cosmic sense of compassion, and the vague sense that the unpleasant details of what he does would somehow ruin it.

And then Macen always sleeps infuriatingly soundly, but it's comforting being awake next to the sound of his breathing. Avitus stores the feeling up for his next period of absence, and then, in the morning, it’s usually time for him to leave. Then it starts all over again, with the emails and slow drag of time until he's back again, and he’s never quite certain that it _will_ repeat again. So far, it always has.

It's a satisfying enough routine, and it's been going on for the better part of a year, now. He doesn't want it to change, but he supposes he'd understand if Macen did. His life is inherently antisocial, disjointed, uprooted. And so is whatever they have between them.

Avitus wakes up after Macen this time, exhausted from his last assignment, and finds him in the kitchen grumbling as he rifles through his cupboards.

“You ever heard of food?” Macen shuts another door. “You've got this huge, fancy apartment, and it's completely empty. What do you eat, omni-gel?”

Avitus leans against the counter with an amused flick of his mandibles. “Try the one to the left.”

“Seriously, it's wasted on you,” Macen continues, moving to the next cupboard. “My whole shitty apartment could fit in your hallway, and it's not even cheap.”

“Landlord still riding you?”

“He wants me out by the end of the month.” Macen insects a dusty packet of something suspiciously. “I guess I need to find a new place.”

“You could stay here.”

“What?” Macen almost drops the packet. “Are you serious?”

“There's room.”

Macen still looks kind of slack jawed. “Are you asking me to _move in_ with you?”

“I'm not here that much,” Avitus says, not looking at him. “You'd mostly have it to yourself.”

“That's not what I asked.”

“You need a place and I’ve got one. The offer’s there.”

“I'm going to need a proper answer here, Avi,” Macen says, and it's the nickname that gets him to meet his eyes. He'd hate it coming from anyone else.

“Sure,” he says, feeling oddly nervous. “Move in.” Macen is still just staring at him, so he clears his throat. “If you want.”

“I can't figure you out, Rix,” is all he says, but he sounds pleased. “I mean - are you sure?”

“I'm sure.” Avitus moves a little closer to where Macen is still stood holding the packet. “Listen, I have to go. You've got the entry code, go ahead and move your stuff in.”

“I - sure. Sure.”

“Make yourself at home. Buy some food.”

Macen chuckles quietly. “Sure, food. But I won't move your stuff about, don't worry.”

“What stuff?” Avitus shrugs. “Just make yourself at home.”

“I like plants.”

“I know,” Avitus says wryly, and then reaches out to curve his fingers around Macen's neck and press his forehead gently against his. “I guess I'll see you later.”

Macen places a hand on his shoulder and breathes in deeply. “I guess I'll be… right here.”

“Sounds good.”

“It does.”

Of all the things he didn't expect to knock him sideways and yank the breath right out his chest, this is the one he understands the least.

  
  
  
  
  



	2. ii.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Consider it a memento,” she says, and the aide hands over the object to Avitus with a bright smile. “To commemorate your find.”

_The Nexus, 2819_

“Pathfinder Rix, what a pleasant surprise,” the salarian says, and then there’s a brief flurry of activity as the hydroponics team spring into action. “We were hoping you would drop by! We’ve prepared a little something -”

“Really, there’s no need -”

“Oh no, we insist!” The salarian extends a warm hand. “Aeran Surmana, I don’t believe we’ve met.”

“I don’t believe so.” Avitus takes her hand. They haven’t met because he avoids this place like the plague; he’s only up here to do Ryder a favor. “I hope the samples made it here intact.”

“They most certainly did. Are you interested in botany, by any chance? It’s not often we get our samples delivered so carefully packaged. Pathfinder Ryder -” Surmana corrects herself before she can finish the thought with a sheepish smile. “ - has been _so_ generous with her time.”

“But not with her delivery methods,” Avitus guesses, amused, and Surmana just smiles placidly at him, unwilling to badmouth the Nexus’ hero of the hour. “I just have a passing knowledge. I’m no biologist.” He tries not to sound too dismissive, but he wants to make it abundantly clear.

Surmana continues with her tentative smile. “Please, this way, let me show you our tank.” She leads him around the corner. He hasn’t the heart to stop her now, not when it’s clearly delighting her to give him the grand tour. “Our sister team on Havarl has of course been able to study this in its more natural environment, but the more diverse nature of our collection has allowed us to do some extremely interesting things. We’ve been testing its compatibility with many Milky Way microorganisms.”

He's interested despite himself. “And?”

“It really is remarkably hospitable.” Surmana gestures proudly to a medium sized tank of algae. It’s as unremarkable as one might expect. “And we have propagated it with great success, I think you’ll find.”

Avitus has never quite known the right thing to say about research, but he finds the sorts of thing he likes people saying about his work are almost always applicable to everything else. “You’re doing good work,” he says, “and your enthusiasm is commendable.”

Sure enough, she looks pleased with that. “I’m glad you think so, Pathfinder. If you wouldn’t mind, we wanted to present you with this -” She gestures to one of her aides who hurries over to them with something tucked under his arm.

“You really shouldn’t have.”

“Consider it a memento,” she says, and the aide hands over the object with a bright smile. “To commemorate your find.”

Avitus takes the gift with all the reluctant grace he can muster, realizing almost immediately what it is and why he very much does not want it. Of course, refusing it isn’t an option.

It’s a glass globe-like structure in an abstract design containing a sample of the newfound algae, beautifully arranged and floating serenely in the water, clearly meant to be displayed. He lets himself close his eyes for a brief, painful second, and then he forces a smile.

“This is very kind, thank you.”

“We were also wondering,” Surmana says, glancing about at her fellow scientists, “perhaps - if you were to name it? It seems only fitting.”

Avitus flinches visibly. “I don’t know if I’m the right person to -”

“Please, take some time.” Surmana clasps her hands together. “There’s no rush, but do get in touch if inspiration strikes.”

Refusing that isn't really an option, either.

 

-

 

_From: Macen Barro_

_To: Avitus Rix_

_Avi,_

_Please don’t panic when you see the power usage stats come through from the grid. Just taking advantage of your unlimited Spectre rations for a personal project - but don’t worry, I’ve moved the credits over to your account. I managed to wrangle some funding after all._

_Although maybe with Spectre compensation, it’s not anything to panic about. From the size of this apartment, I’m guessing not._

_Thanks again for letting me stay. I’m sure the rent you’ve got me paying doesn’t even scratch the surface, but I could earn my keep in... other ways._

_I’m kidding, I’m kidding. Well, not about the ‘other ways’, but not as payment, just out of the goodness of my own heart. Or, well. Close enough._

_The Council don’t monitor your emails, do they?_

_I'll_ _just stop typing._

_M_

_-_

_From: Avitus Rix_

_To: Macen Barro_

_Spectre compensation and salary is strictly classified. Glad to see you’re enjoying the perks, though._

_What kind of project involves requesting 210% of my usual quota? Just curious._

_AR_

_-_

_From: Macen Barro_

_To: Avitus Rix_

_Had to fiddle with the environment controls a bit, experimenting with temperature and humidity. I didn’t know the Citadel could get civilian quarters so warm, or I would’ve found a rich Spectre to shack up with years ago. Reminds me of home._

_There may be a_ slight _proliferation of plants, but if you recall, I gave you fair warning. I promise none of them will try to eat you._

_M_

 

-

 

_The Citadel, 2171_

Macen has been quiet all evening, and he’s been sitting for the past hour fidgeting with his omnitool. Avitus figures he’ll get to the point eventually, and sure enough, he closes his omnitool with an agitated sigh.

“Can I ask you something?”

“Wish you would,” Avitus says wryly, and Macen glares at him. “Go on.”

“Is there a future in TEC?”

Avitus chooses his words carefully. “For you?”

“For anyone.”

“It’s very well respected. You do important work.”

“I asked for it, you know,” Macen says, “once my mandatory rotation was up.”

“I know.”

“Of course you do,” Macen says, not without amusement, and Avitus offers an apologetic shrug.

“Your record is exemplary, by the way. So clean it squeaks.”

“Oh, I know. That’s why they let me finish up mandatory there.” He frowns. “How exemplary? Better than TEC? Shit, I feel bad even thinking that.”

“TEC is a good posting,” Avitus says, and then after a beat adds, “but you could've gotten anything with the engineering recommendation you have.”

“I always thought TEC was the best way to do worthwhile things,” Macen says absently, and then falls quiet. It’s only after a suitably long silence that Avitus speaks again.

“Having a change of heart?”

“I’ve had a job offer,” Macen says, not meeting his eyes. “If you can call it that, anyway. It was very clandestine.”

“Oh?”

“Remember that environment training I went on a few months ago?”

“You mentioned it.”

“Turns out it was for Blackwatch,” Macen continues, still frowning into the middle distance. “I’m not supposed to tell you, technically, but I suppose Spectre access supersedes all that.”

“Blackwatch is scrubbed from our databases, too, but I know more than most.” Avitus leans forward. “That’s… one hell of an offer, Macen. Are you going to take it?”

“A year ago, I don’t think I would’ve.”

“No?”

“I hated covert ops stuff, remember?” Macen looks at him then, flicking his mandibles out in quiet amusement. “I thought it was all about personal glory and making reckless decisions without a thought for the wider consequences.”

Avitus laughs quietly. “I remember. What changed?”

“You, I suppose,” Macen says, spreading his hands wide in a helpless gesture. “It’s one thing _imagining_ what Spectres are like, and it’s another thing knowing one. What you do matters. I guess I can see that now. Some things can’t be public record, or at least - “ He hesitates. “I don’t know. I still don’t always like it, but I understand it.”

“And Blackwatch?”

“That's the thing about terraforming, it makes you realize how fragile and incredible life is. It's such a delicate balance.” Macen has that edge to his voice, the one that means he has something new and captivating to be in awe of, and Avitus knows already what his decision is. “Our existence is a beautiful accident. Palaven is a beautiful accident. I think I understand why protecting it is important enough to justify a lot of things. Isn’t that what Blackwatch is about?”

Avitus just smiles wanly. “You're taking it, then?”

Macen drops his gaze. “It's - a big decision.”

“It sounds like it's an easy one.”

“I'd be based in Trebia,” he says, and for a moment Avitus can't work out why that's significant. “You'd need to find a new roommate.”

It's a weak attempt at humor; they both know he'll do nothing of the sort. “You'll be nearer your family.”

“Right,” Macen says, and rubs at his neck agitatedly. “Listen, Avi, I don't know if I'll be back here much, or at all. Or if we'll even cross paths again, or -”

"I get it,” Avitus says quietly, because he does, more than most. “Macen, take the offer. They'll be lucky to have you.”

Their arrangement was never going to last forever.  

“I'll write,” Macen says softly, and for all its sincerity it feels like a particularly poor consolation prize.

 

-

 

_Havarl, 2819_

Avitus always seems to end up back here, somehow. Back where it all started.

Taana greets him off the shuttle at the research outpost, and it’s good to see her. Another Ex-Blackwatch that bought the Initiative sales pitch, she was one of the few pods ejected with his, and they spent a long time stuck on Havarl together in the strange new world they’d been promised, and which hadn’t delivered. He’s known her even longer than that, has seen her in action countless times, and if he was ever to train someone as his second, he thinks it’d be her. Ryder’s on at him to start sooner rather than later, but he doesn’t feel up to the task, not yet. He barely feels up to being the Pathfinder most days.

She’s ended up on Havarl too, stationed as security for the Initiative scientists. A job that might’ve been his, in another life.

Taana reaches out and places her hand on his shoulder with that sort of firm, no nonsense manner she has that would make her a perfect second. Her expression is what worries him.

“Roekaar trouble?” He follows her into the compound. “Your last message made it sound as though they’d mostly dispersed.”

“A little,” she says, leading him through scientists engrossed in their work, the odd one turning round to give Avitus a nod. He’s well known here, especially after all the algae discovery. “I would appreciate some help with the stragglers, but there’s something else we need to talk about.”

“Kett?”

“How about you sit down,” she says, kindly enough, but he finds himself bristling.

“Come on, Taana, I can take a little bad news. What is it?”

She closes the door behind them with a sigh, shutting them off from the bustle of the main prefab. “I’ve had a few of my guys running salvage missions for parts of _Natanus_ , the stuff we couldn’t get offworld. Figured it might come in handy, or at least stop cluttering up the place.”

“There can’t be much left. Ryder took care of most of it.”

“There isn’t,” Taana says briskly, and holds out a hand. “One of my guys brought this back.”

The businesslike way she gives it to him numbs the reality of it as they sit in his palm. His hands don’t shake. His voice doesn’t falter. “Macen’s tags.” It’s the first time he’s said his name aloud in months.

“I didn’t want to put it in an email,” she says apologetically, and rubs at her forehead wearily. He’d been her friend too. “There’s nothing else. I had them do a full sweep. Honestly, finding them at all is sheer dumb luck.”

There's a saying in the military about how Hierarchy-made tags can survive anything. It's supposed to reference turian stubbornness and a staunch refusal to lose, but it's also true. 

“You were right,” Avitus says, and it’s only then that his voice starts to sounds a little strained. “He must’ve been ejected with the pods.”

“That’s the worst fucking thing about it,” she says bitterly, and he’s glad that it’s her and not him, because he doesn’t know if he has the strength to summon any sort of anger anymore. “We spent all that time so sure he was alive, and he - “ She makes an aggrieved sound but cuts herself off. “I’m sorry.”

“Me too,” he says, still holding the tags like they’re made of glass. “Why are you giving these to me?”

The look she gives him is so gently pitying that he can hardly stand it. “Come on, Rix.”

“Send me the coordinates.”

Her tone is still frustratingly gentle. “There’s nothing else there. We swept -”

“I _know._ Can I have them, please?”

“Fine,” she says, folding her arms with a sigh. “I’ll come with you.”

“Taana, no,” he says, half pleading and half ordering, as if he even has that authority anymore. “Please.”

“I don’t want you to get your hopes up.”

“It’s not about that,” he says, and she opens up her omnitool with a tight expression.

“I want a body to bury as much as you do, Avitus.”

“It’s not about that,” he says again, though he can see she doesn’t believe him. It’s not about a body.

What it is about, he’s not sure he can say.

 

-

 

_From: Macen Barro_

_To: Avitus Rix_

_Sorry for the delay in replying, things have been busy. Understatement. Nothing I can really put in an email, but what’s new? Between the two of us we’re something of a security risk. I guess we could talk about the weather?_

_… or maybe not, seeing as how that would involve revealing where I am. Which I’m not allowed to do._

_And before you give me crap about being a bad engineer, I_ could _encrypt this more securely, but unlike you, I have respect for authority. Also, it’s time consuming, and I’m very tired. The one part of active duty I’ve never liked: the sleep schedule._

_Hope the weather is [BLANK] where you are too._

_M_

_-_

_From: Avitus Rix_

_To: Macen Barro_

_So you’re not a bad engineer, just a lazy one. Good to know._

_Why do I feel like you’re exacting your revenge for all the times I played the ‘classified’ card?_

_AR_

_-_

_From: Macen Barro_

_To: Avitus Rix_

_Because I definitely am._

_Won’t be able to message for a while. I’ll drop you a line when I’m back._

_M_

 

_-_

 

_Navum, 2174_

When Avitus was a kid with bruised knees from reenacting too many espionage vids, he’d built up a pretty detailed picture of what being a Spectre would look like. In a lot of respects, he wasn’t that far from the truth. The small scouting ship he’s using isn’t that much bigger than the fort of corrugated plastic in the corner of his bedroom, though the amenities are a bit better than a stash of candy and a pillow. In Avitus’ imagined career, he’d clamber back in after finishing a mission, eat his designated ‘field rations’ for the day and lie down on the pillow. He’d close his eyes and imagine the stars overhead, but only for thirty seconds or so. Then he’d snap them open, ready for the next mission. It was all a bit more fast paced when you’re saving your bedroom floor from the threat of small, stuffed volus toys.

In reality, there’s a lot of dead time when you’re working alone. Now that he’s more established he rarely receives anything specific from the Council, they deal entirely in generalizations when they make suggestions as to what he should be focusing on. That’s why he’s out on the edge of the Verge, monitoring the batarian situation, keeping a sharp eye on things as they develop and intervening when it seems appropriate. It’s gratifying that they trust his judgement so fully.

His private take on the way things are in the Verge isn’t precisely in line with the Council’s official stance. The batarians’ ever increasing tendency to act like the cartoon villains of the galaxy stems at least in part from being treated like that regardless, and the Council’s refusal to back up their interest in the Verge was never going to cause anything but trouble. Does he _want_ batarians being a major player in the Verge? Hell no, but an non-interventionist approach isn’t really non-anything, it’s just a way to avoid personal responsibility and keep the perceived moral high ground. It’ll all come to a head soon enough, and it won’t be pretty. In the meantime, he’ll do his job, and protect the Council from the ugly truth of the situation they’ve created.

He checks his emails for the fifth time that hour but there’s still nothing new, from either the Council or from Macen, who he hasn’t heard from in months. If their correspondence is tailing off a little, then it’s Avitus’ fault. Macen finds new things to say and new ways to say them even when there’s very little they can put into emails, encrypted or not. Avitus doesn’t. He is, all in all, resigned to the fact that there some gaps which friendship alone can’t quite bridge, but it doesn’t stop him checking his mail. He’s turian, and he’s a Spectre. He’s lost a lot of friends through the push and pull of service.

He’s halfway through pulling up his last Council briefing when he catches the distress beacon, and feeds it through the ship’s VI immediately to analyse the signal. It’s turian military, encrypted in such a way that only higher level turian vessels would detect it for what it really is, instead of just garbled static. As a Spectre, Avitus has the capability to receive it, and his interest is immediately piqued. They want help, but not from just anyone.

The VI pulls up the location on his terminal but doesn’t provide any details on the ship itself, for that, he’ll need to get closer. Its broadcasting range is narrow and he’s only just within it, but he can pinpoint the location accurately to in the orbit of Navum, which the VI helpfully provides data on. It’s a younger turian colony planet with a large orbital shipyard, which is his best guess as to where the ship broadcasting the beacon is docked. It’s not officially military and has a large staff of civilian personnel, but a quick glance through the records show it has been subcontracted for military purposes regularly.

He sends back a similarly encrypted signal indicating receipt and an intention to provide any help he can, and receives a docking clearance code back. If they’re concerned about his own ship’s lack of identification in the signal, it doesn’t seem to show.

It doesn’t take long for him to double back on himself and approach Navum shipyard, shutting down non critical systems and relying on the size of his ship to go relatively unnoticed, just in case. It’s a gamble given he has no idea what’s awaiting him, but based on a educated guess that the shipyard won’t have military grade sensors.

As he draws closer he sees the turian vessel that must have sent the signal, unmarked and following a steady orbit alongside the shipyard. It doesn’t look damaged, though he can see a docking tube trailing from the ship to the shipyard with a few ragged looking holes in it. He transmits the codes and lets the VI guide him into docking position alongside them as he preps for arrival. Weapons, armor, failsafe protocols to destroy his ship if he loses connection with it or is boarded by a hostile force. Part of being a Spectre is cultivating a healthy sort of paranoia.

He’s greeted in the hangar bay by three turians in dark military dress, two of whom stand behind the third, whom he assumes he ought to be addressing. They all have their guns drawn.

“Lieutenant,” he says, the rank clear from the shape of her collar though she doesn’t wear any formal identification. “Avitus Rix, Special Tactics and Reconnaissance. I picked up your distress beacon?”

There’s a brief moment where all three of them look taken aback, but at least they’ve lowered their weapons. “A _Spectre_?” one of the lower ranking turians hisses, but she holds a hand up to silence him.

“I was in the area.” Avitus looks at each of them in turn, trying to get the measure of them. “You do require assistance, I take it?”

“My apologies, sir,” she says, “we had anticipated another of our units picking up the beacon, but we would certainly appreciate any help you can give us.”

“Can I speak with your captain?”

“Acting Captain,” she says, and he dips his head respectfully. “We lost him when the docking tube took a hit.”

“What’s the situation?”

She hesitates for a moment before answering. “I’d better let the commander fill you in on that one.”

“Acting Captain?”

“Yes sir. He’s due back any minute now.”

Great, he thinks. It’s amateur hour.

“Please follow me,” she says, and as he does he sends a message back to his ship’s VI indicating that contact went well and to halt the self-destruct countdown. Healthy paranoia.

She leads him down a thin corridor in a typically turian ship layout that he is very familiar with, before turning right into the armory as a small group of soldiers file in from the airlock. Avitus draws himself up and scans the turians for the commander stripes, but the lieutenant solves the mystery for him as she strides up to the turian bringing up the rear. She probably thinks she’s speaking quietly enough he can’t hear.

“It’s a _Spectre_ , sir.”

“What?”

“The ship that answered the beacon, it’s a Spectre. Said he was in the area.”

“Oh good,” comes the wearily sarcastic reply, and Avitus rolls his eyes as he steps forward. “Thanks, Taana, could you just -”

Which is when he turns around and Avitus finds himself face to face with Macen Barro. It’s both a surprise and somehow not a surprise at all.

“Avi?” he says disbelievingly, holding his helmet vacantly in his hands, and that’s when six other heads whip round curiously.

“Commander Barro,” Avitus says, and as Macen just continues to stare at him, adds helpfully, “it’s been a while.”

“It - yes,” Macen says, and just when Avitus is getting concerned he’s lost his composure entirely, shakes his head and affects a more businesslike posture, handing his helmet to Taana. “Three years, isn’t it? It’s good to see you, though the circumstances could be better.” It’s both appropriately impersonal and carefully polite. Much better. He’s still looking a little taken aback, though.

The rest of the squad are still shooting incredulous glances between the two of them. “I’m here to help however best I can,” Avitus says, which seems to galvanize Macen into further action.

“Of course,” he says, and then addresses his squad with an easy authority Avitus had never expected, but is also somehow not at all a surprise. “This is Spectre Avitus Rix, I knew him when I was with TEC on the Citadel.”

“When you were gardening, sir?”

“That’ll do,” Macen says wryly, the chorus of chuckles suggesting it’s a well-worn joke. He handles it well; letting the humor ease the tension without getting out of hand. Not the kind of turian command Avitus is used to, but he supposes the exclusivity of Blackwatch does well with a more personable touch. “Prep for the tube repairs and be ready. Taana, come with me. We need to get Spectre Rix up to speed.”

Avitus walks with them both as they set off at a brisk pace down another corridor, not missing the way Macen keeps looking over at him incredulously. It’s not the time.

“What’s the sitrep, exactly? I noticed your docking tube had taken some damage but there must be more to it than that.”

“There is,” Macen says, “how much do you know about Navum shipyard?”

“Not a lot.”

“They’re subcontracting out to the human Alliance right now, building colonisation vessels and infrastructure. Makes them a bit of a target.”

Avitus inhales sharply. “Batarians?”

“You got it. We thought it would be simple sabotage, but once we got here we realized how much more ambitious they were feeling. The shipyard doesn’t have any external weapons - or internal, really - but they’d rigged something up to shred our docking tube. Should’ve seen that one coming.” There’s something hard about Macen’s expression that makes Avitus think he did, but perhaps their captain wasn’t so insightful. “Luckily it was a one time thing, but it’s bought them more than enough time to make things even more difficult for us.”

“You said they’re feeling ambitious.”

“I had a feeling it would be more than that, so I had a closer look at the station trajectory. It’s slow, but too fast to be orbital decay.”

“They want to crash it into Navum,” Avitus says, and Macen grimaces. “An opportunity to hurt the Alliance and the Hierarchy, can’t say I’m surprised they’re taking the opportunity.”

“They’re not doing a very good job of it, but they’ll get there eventually. It wasn’t designed to be moved so dramatically, it only really has the capacity to adjust its orbit slowly, so we have time, but not a lot. After a certain point it won’t be recoverable.”

“Have you alerted Navum?”

“We’re hoping it won’t come to that.” For the first time Macen sounds unsure. “There’s no way we could evacuate everyone. If we can avoid causing panic -”

“I agree,” Avitus says, and doesn’t miss the way Macen’s mandibles relax a little. “What do you need?”

“Get me into the command center and I can do the rest.”

“I can do that,” Avitus says, and Macen stops outside another airlock with an unreadable expression.

“Good. Taana can get you the plans for the station.”

“Yes sir.” She nods at them both and continues purposefully down the corridor, leaving them standing outside the airlock for a long, almost awkward moment.

“It really is good to see you,” Macen says, and then clears his throat. “You’re not who I expected to answer the distress call.”

“I didn’t expect to find Blackwatch out here either.”

“Yeah, well,” Macen says with a half-smile, “that’s classified. The tube should be repaired in ten, I’ll meet you there.”

The salute Avitus gives him is only a little bit mocking, and only then because he’s known Macen as long as he has and feels entitled to some friendly teasing. Truth is, he seems to wear command well. It feels natural to follow his orders. “Yes sir.”

“Don’t start,” Macen mutters, half amused and half embarrassed, and they continue standing there uselessly, apparently unwilling to put aside their personal reunion in favor of the very pressing situation at hand.

Three years. It's not the time to get into it.

“Ten minutes,” Avitus says, and Macen clears his throat again as he activates the airlock.

“Let Taana know if you need anything.”

“Of course.”

 

-

 

Short of blowing a hole in the side of the station, the repaired docking tube is their best way in. If Avitus was on his own, he might consider a controlled explosion somewhere unobtrusive and try for a stealth entry, but he has Macen’s team to think of.

Avitus works best alone. He’s not convinced anything short of traditional open warfare really benefits from numbers, but this isn’t his operation. If it was -

\- well, it’s not. Macen’s chosen team is small and effective, and he’s taken onboard all the suggestions Avitus made about their proposed route through the station. He is, in short, doing everything right, and even after three years of sporadic messages and sealed military records, Avitus still trusts him. He just can’t quite relax when the success of a mission rests not just on him, but vectors he can’t control, even Macen.

The batarians are waiting for them, of course, but Macen has rigged up a few surprises of his own that stop them being able to bottleneck them entirely, using the damaged locking mechanism of the docking tube to announce their arrival with a hiss of angry sparks and smoke. They press their advantage with a smooth coordination that almost makes Avitus wish he didn’t work alone, _almost._ Of course, the speed with which they dispatch the welcoming party is offset entirely by losing the element of surprise, and so they haven’t got time to waste. Macen makes his way across to the nearest terminal.

“Looks like there’s still civilian staff onboard.” He swears under his breath. “I guess not all of them got in the pods.”

“How many?”

“Eighty. Looks like they’ve been locked into several rooms.”

“Good,” Avitus says, “they’ll be away from live fire.”

“And unable to get out if things go south.” Macen glances up at him, his expression as stubborn as ever he’s seen it.

“We don’t have time for a detour,” Avitus says sharply, far more sharply than he’s ever had cause to speak to Macen before, but he doesn’t flinch. Taana and the two other turians are watching with interest.

“Maybe not,” Macen says shortly, and as Taana starts to protest he shoots her a look that stops her in her tracks. “Look, even if we change the course of the station it’s going to be a bumpy ride. They could have wounded, I'm sure the batarians weren't gentle. I don’t know what we’ll have to do to pull the station back into a steady orbit -”

“We don’t have time,” Avitus repeats forcefully, but Macen doesn’t seem inclined to listen. “Macen, every minute we waste -”

“Come on, Avi, we're better than that,” he says in a low voice, shutting the terminal down decisively. He straightens up and gestures at his team. “Taana, take Sancis and Caedros and get the civilians out.”

“Yes sir.”

“Rix,” Macen says flatly, with a look that's all challenge, “you're with me.”

Avitus says nothing, just falls into position as the rest of the team head down another corridor. Macen doesn't speak either, though for all his stubborn conviction earlier he keeps shooting Avitus apprehensive glances. They'll be taking the brunt of the batarians' reactionary force, he's guessing, given that they won't be expending much if any effort in guarding their prisoners. He hopes Macen is up to it.

Once they're on the last stretch towards central command the batarians up their game, and they're forced to fight their way through even with Macen triggering alarms and false fire warnings across the other side of the station from a console.

Of course, Avitus has always known Macen is a good soldier and a better engineer, but his image of him has still been distinctly - gentle. Macen asleep next to him. Macen repotting plants. Macen leaning against the bar on his elbows with a relaxed grin.

Macen in the field is focused, precise, and sharp. It's not that the two can't exist simultaneously, but reconciling both in his rose tinted memories is - strange. He wishes he could have seen this sooner, he thinks maybe he would have understood better.

Arterius was right. Macen was wasted on the TEC, sustainability research be damned.

They still don’t speak, but it’s less from their disagreement and more because they simply don’t have to. Seeing Macen in action is unfamiliar in a lot of ways, but anticipating his movements isn’t as hard as he’d thought; Avitus isn’t used to fitting himself around another person, but he knows Macen, or at least, he did. It helps. Macen in combat does what he used to do in person: he fills in the gaps, softens out the edges, and it’s this unexpected reality that catches Avitus off guard.

Avitus had been worried that Macen was too wrongfooted by his sudden appearance, concerned about how it would affect the mission. Perhaps he should have worried more about himself.

He reloads his rifle with visible frustration, and Macen casts him a wary look. He grits his teeth. “We must be near the entrance by now.”

“In here,” Macen says shortly, lowering his rifle and gesturing to an airlock. “Looks like they bought the fire warning, but we don't have long. I can correct the trajectory from here. Keep them off me?”

Avitus takes up position by the console that Macen is working on furiously, eyeing the exit even as he watches him work. “Corrections still possible?”

“Looks like.”

A batarian tries to rush through the airlock, hoping the element of surprise will counteract their tactical disadvantage, and Avitus looks down his rifle and fires. Not so lucky. “So we made it in time.”

“Could still take a few hours to be sure, the thrusters are pretty burnt out with the hammering they've given them.”

“You need a few _hours?_ ”

“Please,” Macen says, even cracking a half grin, “of course not. But we won't be back on the original orbit earlier than that, and we’ll need to make sure the systems can still maintain it. This pile of junk was due a retrofit anyway.”

Avitus takes out another opportunistic batarian. “So the civilians could've waited another half hour, as it turned out.”

“Not the point,” Macen says, and looks up from the console with an aggrieved expression. “I know you don’t have a team, but would you really just have _left_ them -”

The whole station lurches drunkenly as Avitus struggles to keep his footing.

“Is this really the time to question my moral integrity?”

“This is exactly when it matters!”

Avitus glares at him. “Are you done?”

“I’m done.” Macen snaps his rifle into place on his back, and taps out something on his omnitool. “You might want to hold onto something.”

“What?”

He’s too angry to see the sense in Macen’s warning until the station groans and shudders suddenly, pulling away hard as the thrusters kick in, and Avitus is nearly thrown sideways but for Macen grabbing his arm. The next lurch, although less severe, catches them both off balance and they’re thrown against the bulkhead with an astonishing amount of force. Macen half groans, half laughs through it, wincing as he pushes himself to his feet and opens his omnitool.

“The civilians?” Avitus says, and catches Macen’s surprised expression before he quickly looks away.

“Taana got them out. Ripped the docking tube again, though.”

“Looks like it’s up to us to clear the rest of the batarians out.”

“Looks like,” Macen says, and then opens his mouth as if he has more to say before clamping it shut again. “Let’s get moving.”

 

-

 

After sweeping the rest of the station and helping to relocate the workers, Avitus tries to leave before he’s missed. He answered the damn beacon, he did his bit, and now he’s going back to what he knows and does best. This whole thing has left him unsettled, and he suddenly realizes that the last thing he wants is Macen’s judgement.

He almost makes it, but Macen catches up with him in the hangar with an irritated expression.

“You can’t just _leave_ like that.”

Avitus rounds on him with a polite defiance. “Do you need further assistance, Commander Barro?”

“Cut it out.” Avitus continues striding back to his ship, but Macen just follows. “Three years, and you’re just going to _leave_ -”

“I can’t stay.” He slams his fist on the airlock controls. “I’ve got a job to do.”

Macen follows him onto his ship without hesitation, which manages to amuse him somewhere beneath his frustration. “Right, Spectre business. Where collateral damage is fair game, I take it?”

The living interior of the scout ship is small enough that it feels absurdly crowded with the two of them. Even so, Macen takes a step closer and forces Avitus to look at him, so he does. “If you’re here to question my judgement, don’t bother. I’m good at my job.”

“I know you are, but have you ever wondered if it’s good for you?”

“What?”

Macen sighs and rubs his forehead. “Forget it. I didn’t actually come here to give you a hard time. I’m sorry.”

There’s an uncomfortable silence before Avitus speaks. “Why _are_ you here?”

“I - well.” Macen fixes his gaze somewhere to the left of Avitus’ head. “I could’ve written more often. I’m sorry for that, too.”

“I’m pretty sure it should be me apologizing for that.”

“No, no, I mean. People change, I get it.”

Avitus narrows his eyes. “What?”

“I missed you,” Macen says in a rush, wincing even as the words come out, “and I just wanted you to know that, even if - well, you know. It’s fine if you, er. It’s fine if you don’t. I’ve told you now, anyway, so -”

He turns to leave with another embarrassed wince, but Avitus catches him by the arm. Macen goes still but he doesn’t quite know what to say. All the things on the tip of his tongue are useless.

“I didn’t know you’d made commander,” is what he does say, not that it’s much better. “Blackwatch agrees with you.”

“I hope so.”

“Ever miss the gardening?”

“Very funny. “ Macen’s mandibles flutter almost imperceptibly. “Sometimes I do.”

“I missed the plants,” Avitus says, because saying _I missed you_ feels impossible. “Miracles never cease.”

“Right,” Macen says cautiously, rubbing the side of his neck with a faint smile. “Did you, er. Did you find a new roommate?”

“No,” Avitus says. He’s pretty sure they’re not talking about roommates.

“Okay,” Macen breathes, and it feels natural then for Avitus to reach out for him, letting his fingers rest tentatively on his waist. Macen’s returning grip on his shoulders is a lot firmer, and Avitus feels almost light-headed.

“So there’s no-one you…?”

“Take a hint, Avi,” Macen says wryly, and this time they both hit the bulkhead for much, much better reasons.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for your lovely comments, it means a lot! I think this chapter is my favorite :')


	3. iii.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> But wishes are useless, no matter how bright the stars are.

_Havarl, 2820_

The coordinates Taana gives him lead him to somewhere he’s been before, in something that passes for a clearing in the tangled snarl of plants that is Havarl. To the left through the trees, he knows there’ll be running water, a downstream distributary of where he found the algae. He can almost hear it.

He doesn’t look for a body. He doesn’t rage at the unfairness of it all. He doesn’t do anything except slump heavily onto a rock and breathe deeply.

Still, he has found what he was looking for, more or less. Out here, with Macen’s tags in his hand and Havarl murmuring in his ears, it’s the closest he’s felt to Macen since clawing his way out his stasis pod. He thought Havarl would be his grave, but now he knows that it’s Macen’s. His uneasy relationship with it makes sense in a way it hasn’t before.

Through the gap in the trees overhead, he can see the stars. It’s the one part of Andromeda that Macen saw, and the last thing they’d ever share.

“Hey Macen,” he says quietly, hearing him in every leafy rustle and gentle splash of the river, “how’d you like some algae named after you?”

The branches above him creak like a question.

“Some hotshot species that’s trying to take toxins out the water single handedly. Pretty big headed, if you ask me.”

He hears the echoes of laughter in the cry of an unknown bird.

“You’d love it here,” he says, and bows his head and wonders if he’s losing it. Lost it a long time ago.

“Pathfinder Rix,” SAM says, in as soft a tone as the AI is capable of, “I believe Macen would have liked that.”

Macen, not Pathfinder Barro. It helps to hear it that way. “You think?”

“I do.”

“You knew him,” Avitus says, “you knew him better than I did, even.” It comes out more weary than jealous.

“That is an incorrect assessment,” SAM says.

“You were in his brain.”

“Our connection, although complex, was not of that nature. I cannot simply read your mind, as it were.”

“Still,” Avitus says, “you must have known him.”

“I believe so.” There’s a long pause. “He cared for you very deeply.”

“Thought you couldn’t read minds.”

“I was not reading his mind, Pathfinder Rix,” SAM says, and Avitus closes his eyes and breathes until it doesn’t threaten to overwhelm him.

“Avitus,” he says eventually, “why don’t you call me Avitus?”

“My assessment was that you disliked it when I was overly familiar with you.”

“Only Macen called me Avi,” he says, “but Avitus is fine. I’m sorry if I’ve been - if I haven’t appreciated the help you’ve given me.”

“It would be understandable if you blamed me for the _Natanus_.”

“I did,” he admits, “for a while.”

SAM sounds almost hopeful. “Then you no longer feel that way?”

“I needed something to blame.” Avitus opens his eyes again and turns Macen’s tags over between his fingers. “Might as well have been you.”

“I was directly responsible for the events that occurred.”

“The Scourge was responsible. You were damaged when Macen died.” He’s surprised to hear himself say it, let alone believe it. “I wish -”

But wishes are useless, no matter how bright the stars are.

“What’s done is done, SAM,” he says, “I don’t blame you for any of it.”

“I am glad, Avitus. I hope we can have a long and fruitful partnership.”

“Thanks, SAM,” he says, and for a moment, almost laughs. “Maybe we can discover more plants.”

“There are many opportunities in Heleus to be pioneers.”

“I guess that’s what this was all about, huh?” Avitus turns upwards to face the stars again. “Being pioneers.”

“Yes, Avitus.”

They lapse into a comfortable silence, and Avitus’ heart aches but it is something warmer and deeper, less raw and ragged at the edges. SAM is a quiet presence beside and behind him, and for all his pain, Heleus is still beautiful. He holds onto that as tightly as he holds onto Macen’s tags.

“SAM,” he says eventually, “is it true, what Ryder said? About the memories?”

“It is complex.”

“Try me.”

“I cannot simply access the memories ‘stored’ in a brain and play them back. If an event occurred after the implant was placed, then I can provide audio visual records of my own that more accurately fit your understanding of an experienced ‘memory’. This would be more accurate than your own natural recall of an event. If an implant was not in place, however, then I can only access limited data made available when a linked individual was to revisit that memory intentionally. The way memories are stored in turian physiology is intricate, and it would take some extrapolation to derive an audio visual representation in this way, which would also be inevitably inaccurate.”

It takes Avitus a moment to work his way through this, something like disappointment coursing through him, despite everything. “So you can't?”

“There are things that I can draw more easily than others. These are easier to feed back to you in a way you can experience.”

“I don't think I understand. So, from any moment that Macen and I had the implants, you can play that back?”

“Yes, but it would not be a true “memory” as you define it.”

“What about Macen's memories from before the implant?” Avitus’ mind races. “Or mine?”

“If you were to focus on a memory then I could extrapolate what I could from that and provide some kind of immersive experience based on your recollection.”

“And Macen?”

“There is data I have from when we were linked, yes.”

“What do you mean by an immersive experience?”

“It would be easier to show you,” SAM says, “it is very different from the way you would experience a memory ordinarily.”

“I - I don't know if I can,” Avitus says, his rapt interest turning to nerves. “Not yet, anyway.”

“I understand.”

“Thanks, SAM,” he says, and takes a deep breath to steady himself. “Could you do me a favor?”

“Of course, Avitus.”

“Message Surmana, tell her I've thought of a name for that algea. I don't know what the convention is, if it'd be Macen, or Barro, but whichever.” He takes another deep breath. “Just as long as it’s in there somewhere.”

“Certainly. Would you like me to plot a path back to the research compound?”

“Not yet,” he says, “I'd like to stay a little longer.”

“Of course.”

They sit quietly in the starlight for a long time.

 

-

 

_From: Macen Barro_

_To: Avitus Rix_

_Avi,_

_I've had to do my fair share of brown nosing but it just goes to show what a spotless record can do for you, right? Command has given me permission to take my shore leave outside Trebia at least twice a year. Had to really grovel for that, especially given I can't say why I've developed a sudden aversion to turian space. If you declare a relationship they tend to be a bit more reasonable, but I guess that's what I get for dating a paranoid Spectre. Although, don't think I haven't noticed your apartment VI still had my scan profile on the authorized entry list, so how's that for a security risk? Three years without updating it, tut tut._

_I'm just teasing. I trust your judgement, and if you think it's better to keep it under the radar, then I don't mind. All part of dating a mysterious, paranoid, secretly sentimental Spectre, right?_

_So. Twice a year, that's the best I could do. Otherwise, I'm on call, so you'll need to come to me. I've got a really ugly apartment near Cipritine, but at least it's full of plants. I'm really selling it, aren't it?_

_I've attached the dates they agreed on, so if you can wrangle some Palaven downtime then, I can meet you on the Citadel for the rest. Hoping you can. I mean, that was the plan, wasn't it?_

_I really want this to work._

_M_

_-_

_From: Avitus Rix_

_To: Macen Barro_

_Dates agreed and attached, no brown nosing required. Which is good, because I expect I'm bad at it. I don't know if_ spotless _is the right word for my record, but it met with their approval, anyway._

_I look forward to your ugly apartment, I'm sure the company will be good even if the decor is bad._

_I did say I missed the plants._

_AR_

 

-

 

_The Citadel, 2177_

Even now, Macen still sleeps like the dead. Avitus feels like he sleeps less every night, though that surely can't be possible. He used to think that's just the price you pay for making the galaxy a better place; you change it for the better, it changes you for the worst.

He's not so sure these days.

Another thing that puzzles him about Macen: he sleeps sprawled out and loose limbed, not like someone used to tight military crew quarters. Avitus can never quite shake the habit of sleeping contained and stiffly, even when he's home.

He lifts one of Macen's outstretched arms as carefully as he can, lowering it back down into the space he's vacating. He'll wake up sooner or later when he misses the body that should still be there, but hopefully not until he's better rested.

Avitus resists the urge to pace back and forth in the main living space, and instead lets himself out onto the balcony. One of the perks of living on the Presidium, and one that he couldn't care less about, but Macen likes the green. The space beyond the sliding glass doors is full of plants and trays of seedlings, all with small VI watering and pruning devices attached to the side to account for the long months where no one is here.  

It doesn't offer the comfort he's looking for. He sits with his head bowed towards the floor and listens to the sounds of the skycars, and tries not to hate it all with a disgust that burns unpleasantly in his throat. It's an ugly feeling, but it'll pass. It always does, eventually.

It lingers longer every time.

“Ready to talk about it yet?”

Avitus turns his head just enough to see Macen standing in the doorway from the corner of his eye. “How long have you been there?”

“There's this spec ops division called ‘Blackwatch’, don't know if you've heard of it. We sneak around a lot.” Macen pauses expectantly. “That's normally the part where you make a smug comment about being handpicked by the Council.”

Avitus rubs a hand distractedly across his forehead. “Right.”

“Avi,” Macen says, softer than before, too soft.

“I can't talk about it.”

“Aren't we a little past security protocols?”

“It's not that.” Avitus presses down on the plates above his eyes, but the distraction of the pressure doesn't dull his agitation. “I - I can't. Listen, you should get some rest.”

“So should you.”

“I'm fine.”

“See, that's the thing,” Macen says, with a funny edge to his voice, “I believe that less every time you say it.”

“I -” There's nothing he can really say to that. “It was just… a difficult mission.”

“They're all difficult.”

“They are,” Avitus says, and closes his eyes again. “Some more than others.”

“Avi -”

“I'm _good_ at it, Macen.”

“You'll burn yourself out if you go on like this,” Macen says, and Avitus wonders if he already has. Better him than someone else. “Every time I see you -”

“I can handle it.”

“Now you can, but what about next year? Five years down the line? _Ten_ years?”

Avitus feels the weight of the years yet to come as if they're already upon him. “It's my duty.”

“You've more than done your duty.” Macen sounds angry. At another time he might appreciate it, but now he is just exhausted and bitter.

“Could we please not talk about this now?”

“Fine,” Macen says stiffly, and there's a brief silence. As much as Avitus was seeking solitude outside, he feels a pang of regret at the sound of the sliding doors. He hangs his head in recrimination but moments later, the seat shifts beneath him as Macen sits down next to him. He inches his hand out to his side in a tentative apology, and Macen takes it readily. He always does.

His voice is gentle again, but this time it's not so unwelcome. “I just want you to remember that you have options.”

“Do I?” Avitus lets out a short, humorless laugh.

“Of course you do.”

Avitus shakes his head, letting his fingers fall in the gaps between Macen's. “I have seen,” he says slowly, “some of the ugliest things this galaxy has to offer. It would be - _remiss -_ of me not to fight that.”

“Because only Spectres fight bad guys,” Macen says dryly.

“Only Spectres do it the way I know how.” He keeps his gaze on their hands. “Before you tell me I can learn another way -”

“You _can.”_

“I can't, Macen. I just don't know how to see the galaxy any other way. There are some things you can't unlearn. And before you disagree -”

“Me? Disagree? Perish the thought.”

“Good,” Avitus says, amused despite himself. “Then this discussion is settled.”

Macen just hums noncommittally by way of an answer, but he doesn't press further, and they sit for a moment in the synthetic light in silence. Macen leans over slightly to reach a nearby potted plant, picking a dead leaf off a lower part of the stem absently, fiddling with the controls of the pruning VI.

“Hey,” he says after a while, when Avitus’ nerves are just an agitated hum in the background, “do you remember Dea?”

“Praeton? Sixth fleet?”

“Yeah. She's on the Citadel at the moment, we've been talking a lot.”

“She still on about that crazy voyage to Andromeda?” Avitus snorts. “You know it'll never happen.”

“Oh, I don't know,” Macen says, in a purposefully vague sort of tone that has Avitus watching him sharply. “Dea thinks it will.”

“ _Dea_ thinks, does she?”

“It’s probably a good ten years away, but she's confident it’s coming together.”

“She's throwing away a promising career on the off-chance the momentum lasts long enough to even get as far as building a ship.”

“She's staying in sixth fleet until things are more final.” Macen is pruning another plant, but this time it feels distracted. “That's all they're asking for now, it's all provisional. No one has to give up anything just yet -”

“ _Macen_.”

“Imagine,” he says, “Andromeda, Avi. Wouldn't it be incredible?”

There's a moment of quiet, except for the sound of Macen adjusting the watering VI.

Avitus’ voice is flat. “What did they offer you?”

“Pathfinder.”

“What's that?”

“Kind of... recon, I suppose. Settlement viability, guiding the settlement process, first contact, that sort of thing.”

It take Avitus a moment to swallow down all the ways this hits him, to feel a little more controlled.  “It's a good fit for you,” he says hoarsely, “if it happens, anyway.”

They've been here before. Is it worse this time? Would it be easier, knowing he wouldn't even wake up until Avitus was centuries dead?

“It'll happen, Avi,” Macen says quietly.

It hardly bears asking, but he does anyway. “You're taking it?”

“Depends,” Macen says, which does catch him by surprise. “Will you come?”

“Excuse me?”

“I need a team.”

Avitus just stares at him. “You can't seriously think I'd be any good at - at - assessing planet viability -”

“Special tactics and _reconnaissance_ , isn't it? You do like reminding me of the entire title.”

“Yeah, but it's the ‘special tactics’ that people tend to remember.”

“There'd be training. It's a long way off yet, and there's plenty of time to prepare.”

Avitus is rendered disbelievingly speechless.

“Okay,” Macen says, undeterred. “Forget the Pathfinder team for now. Will you come anyway?”

“You're actually serious.”

“Of course I'm serious! This is the opportunity of a lifetime. Of a thousand lifetimes, even.”

“So take it,” Avitus says, “you don't need my endorsement -”

“Are you listening to me? I want you to come.”

“It's ten years away, you said so yourself. That's - we might not even be - it's a long time.” Avitus huffs to cover his embarrassment at the unfinished thought. As if that's somehow the most outlandish part of Macen's proposal, that he expects their relationship to last that long.

“It's pretty good timing, actually,” Macen says, “I mean, I don’t want to leave Blackwatch. Not yet. But in another ten years? You can’t be a Spectre forever, and it’d be one hell of a retirement plan.”

Avitus takes a long moment to process that, watching Macen incredulously from the corner of his eye.

“Retirement?”

“Not the usual, I'll give you that, but I thought you'd like the idea of something a bit more exciting.”

“So… we’re retiring together.”

“I feel like you’re fixating on the wrong thing here, Avi.” Macen is fighting a grin without much success. “We’re travelling over two million light years to a totally unknown galaxy to be pioneers -”

“In ten years. To retire together.”

“I think we’ve been through this,” Macen says drolly, but he leans in to rest his shoulder against Avitus’. “But yes, that's the idea.”

“You're… planning quite far ahead.”

“Worried you'll get sick of me?”

“Never,” Avitus says, and watches the pleased flutter of Macen's mandibles. “Have you ruled out retiring in the Milky Way?”

“Not entirely, no.”

“That's good to know.”

“Don't you think it'd be something, though, to start from the ground up?” Macen sighs. “No Council, no fucked up politics -”

“We'd find all new ways to fuck up, trust me.”

Macen lets out that soft little hum he has, his favorite way to gently disagree with Avitus. It’s shorthand for _you’re such a pessimist, Avi,_ or for _but I love you anyway._ Avitus has stopped hearing the first part and started listening for the second. Who’s the pessimist now?

“Maybe, maybe not. Will you think about it at least?”

“I will,” Avitus says, and he still doesn’t hold much faith in a wild, half-cocked journey to another galaxy, but the Presidium seems to glow just a little bit brighter.

 

-

 

_From: Dea Praeton_

_To: Macen Barro_

_Macen,_

_You'll never guess who showed up at the base today. Or maybe you will, because I know you put him up to it._

_So it's official: you've got your number two, and the full Pathfinder team is ready to go - pending everything else falling into place, of course. Natanus is looking good, got my first tour of the bridge today. It'll be a while yet until she can show us what she's really capable of, but it's all on schedule. Well, the revised schedule anyway. We'll get there. This is the problem with civilian projects: delays. Still, it’ll all be worth it in the end._

_I'm glad Rix showed up, I wouldn’t have thought of recruiting anyone with his skillset but I think he'll be a good fit. That, and I get the distinct impression you would've pulled out if he hadn't. I wonder why. He got all tongue-tied when I asked how you even knew each other in the first place, as well. How long have you been sitting on that one? Not that it’s any of my business, but you first introduced me to Rix ten years ago. Ten! I know he’s a compulsively secretive bastard, but I didn’t have you pegged as one too. Professional hazard, I guess._

_A Blackwatch operative and an ex-Spectre, huh? Think I watched a vid about that once._

_Dea_

 

_-_

 

_The Nexus, 2820_

His apartment feels different, this time. There’s a weight in his pocket where Macen’s tags are and a heavier weight still in his heart, and when the airlock closes behind him Avitus drags his eyes upwards and _looks,_ really looks, for the first time.

The apartment that should have been theirs and filled with life and color.

It's the painful flashes of what could have been that usually drive him back out into Heleus and as far away from the reality as he can, but this time he closes his eyes against the raw ache of it all and wills himself to stay.

In lieu of life and color there's just his grief and a single glass terranium of algae.

And then, instead of hating the inadequacy of it all, he forces himself to think: _it's a start_.

Back when he was young and stupid and still thought about winning Macen's favor in terms of impressing him - an absurd thought in retrospect, Macen was always irritated with shows of arrogance and quick to warm to simple curiosity without an agenda - he'd spent hours reading papers and studies about the algae in that damn well on Praxis, the one he and Saren had compromised and that Macen had cornered him about. He'd thought that citing sources would make him look good, but Macen was just pleasantly surprised that he'd bothered to fix it at all. He'd liked that Avitus cared.

Had he cared? He thinks he did, in his own way. Avitus Rix, newly minted Spectre, didn't care about a lot of things, but he wasn't totally void of compassion. He'd probably wanted to prove that to Macen more than he'd cared for Praxis’ sake, because even though he'd only met him for a few hours, he'd made an impression. He's still making one.

That Macen left behind compassion and wonder amidst the loneliness isn't a surprise, but there's a curiosity unfurling from within his grief that surprises him. All those half forgotten studies of prokaryotes and eukaryotes swim to the surface, and on the hydroponics shelf the algae bubbles away quietly, a small pocket of life and color despite everything.

And despite everything, he is never quite alone.

“Avitus,” SAM says, the companion he never asked for but is growing to appreciate, an echo of Macen where he never expected to find one, an inextricable part of his new reality. “The algae has responded well to my environmental adjustments.”

“Good,” he says absently, and rolls his shoulders with a sigh. “It's - thanks.”

“Is there something I can assist with, Avitus?”

“I was just thinking,” he says wearily, and places his helmet carefully down onto the table, where he would've once thrown it across the hydroponics shelving just to fill the space.

“Of course. Please let me know if there's anything I can help with.”

Algae doesn't have roots, he remembers. There's something significant about that but he supposes he never really listened. Macen could've lapsed into gibberish and he'd just have carried on watching him intently, never really hearing. Knowing him, he probably tried it, and Avitus never even noticed. He hopes it made him laugh.

“I used to be surrounded by plants,” he says, and closes his eyes. He can almost smell them, the strange synthetic aroma of the nutrigel mingling with the earthiness of the flowers. “Our apartment -”

“I remember,” SAM interjects quietly, and it's probably his imagination but it's as if to save him from the pain of explaining himself.

“Right,” he says hoarsely, and takes a seat as his weariness finally catches up with him. He doesn’t usually stay here more than a day, two days if he really has to. After a lifetime of pushing himself to his limits, it’s hard to admit that maybe he should stop. Just for a little while. “Of course.” He doesn't know if SAM is talking about its own memories, or Macen's, or his. Or what the difference even is between the three, when it comes to SAM. He supposes it doesn't really matter.

“The hydroponics shelving is fully equipped to accommodate a range of plant life.”

“Yeah, I know,” Avitus says, and half laughs with an hint of wistfulness. “I’d probably just kill them, though.”

“My subroutines would ensure they thrived, even in your absence.”

“Right,” Avitus says again, oddly touched by the solidity of SAM’s reply. He swallows. “I don’t know, SAM. It was Macen’s thing.”

“Of course.”

He misses it, though. He misses it even without Macen. It felt like home. Macen had been based on Trebia right up to the last few months before they left, dividing his time between his final Blackwatch responsibilities and his growing Initiative ones, and after Avitus had given the Council his biting resignation, he’d been mostly at a loose end when Macen was away. It had been a place of peace when his mind was in turmoil, the hum of the environmental controls and the gentle clicking of the VIs springing into action a soothing backdrop to his loss of purpose.

What he wouldn’t give for a moment of that clarity now.

“SAM,” he says, his heart thudding unpleasantly in his chest, “we spoke about memories, back on Havarl.”

“Yes, Avitus.”

“I was thinking -” he says, and then shakes his head with a sigh. “You said they weren’t true memories?”

“I can provide an immersive audio-visual experience based on a true memory, but it would not be a true experience. It would, however, best fit your understanding of a experience.”

“I still don’t think I understand.”

There is a pause so brief that he almost thinks he imagines it, and then SAM answers, “I would be happy to show you, Pathfinder Rix.”

Avitus hesitates, fingers curled around the seat of his chair in a tight grip. “Show me what, exactly?”

“A memory,” SAM says simply, and if Avitus weren’t wrestling with other more complicated emotions he’d be irritated at the vagueness of his reply. SAM picks up on his reluctance. “You are uncertain?”

“A bit, yeah. Seems like the opposite of what I should be doing.”

“What should you be doing?”

“I don’t know,” Avitus says irritably, trying to relax his shoulders. “Moving forward, probably.” As if moving forward isn't inevitable, and each day takes him inexorably further from Macen, from his old life. It doesn't often feel like a choice.

“Of course,” SAM says, which seems to be its habitual response to anything Avitus says without any real conviction. Strange to think that an AI is the one who can see straight through him.

He snorts. “I would've thought you'd agree, after that shit you pulled with Ryder and the grief counselling.”

“Your wellbeing is paramount to me,” SAM says dutifully, and then, with a little more of the curious character Avitus has come to recognize: “Doctor T’kiro has written many papers on the benefits of connecting with one's past.”

“I don't think she meant it quite this literally.”

“Perhaps not. The perspective I can provide is  - unique.” A pause. "And, of course, optional. I only wish to present you with options."

It is, in the end, too strong a pull for Avitus to turn down. He closes his eyes again and takes a breath. “How does this work, then?”

“You are certain?”

“As I'll ever be,” Avitus says, and then when there's no response he frowns but doesn't open his eyes. “SAM?”

It's the whir of the environmental controls that startles him into blinking them open, the noise so achingly familiar he forgets his apprehension.

It's his apartment back on the Citadel. To his left, the sitting area, the table littered with tech and datapads. There's a space cleared at one end, where Avitus would rest his feet as he reclined on the couch. It was perfectly positioned to catch the blast of cool air from the conditioning unit above, an important consideration in an apartment kept three degrees above the Presidium standard.

To his right, his arms locker, stocked with his old Spectre grade guns. After he resigned his commission, then. No Initiative gear, so it's before any of that had started to ramp up and become a more known quantity. This was a point in Avitus’ life where he was just Avitus Rix and nothing else, and trying to find out what that meant.

Small potted plants line shelves on the wall, some trailing vines and flowers down the side, but it's the balcony where most of them are, the humidifiers humming gently as they work overtime to cancel out the dry air of the Presidium. The plants crawl up the side of the glass doors and stack neatly in rows, seemingly haphazard but Avitus knows there is an order to it all. You'd find the same general organisation in the national botanical gardens on Cipritine, which always amused him. He smiles even now.

Avitus slides the doors across to the side, and there he is. He's facing away from Avitus, bending down to fuss over some seedling or other.

It isn't Macen, not really. It's a construct of a memory, or a combination of memories, an experience presented to him by an AI in the gentlest way possible. It's still good to see him. It still pulls at his heart and hits him with more force than even he expected.

Avitus takes a seat heavily as Macen continues without turning round. Why would he? It's just another day to him, another ordinary day in their apartment. It's better this way, better to see him as they used to be instead of whatever anguished reunion they could have now, if it were even possible. It's a peaceful moment that belongs to him, however he experiences it, and it feels right that he's here. SAM can show him it more viscerally than he could otherwise, but it's still his. It is, at its heart, still real.

That calms his rapidly beating heart a little, even when Macen half turns to give him an absent smile. Fond but distracted. That feels right, too.

“Long day?” Macen asks, pausing briefly from his repotting.

Avitus’ voice comes out as not much more than a croak. “Very long.” He should've thought to ask how interactive this would be. Can they talk? Or is it part of a predetermined conversation from many years ago which he can only watch? He can imagine himself making a similar response back then.

“You'll figure it out, Avi,” Macen says softly, the way he kept saying after the business with Saren and Avitus’ sudden and disorienting lack of purpose. It holds new meaning from across the years and galaxies.

He just nods silently, unwilling to push the limits of the memory and ruin the beautiful, haunting illusion of it all. It's enough to just _be._

He used to sit for hours just watching Macen work out his own stress on his gardening, neither of them saying much, the act of watching him his own sort of stress relief. This time he does the same, though he can't say how long he actually sits there in real time, or whether what SAM is showing him matches up to the peaceful limbo of the memory. Hours, minutes. It doesn't matter.

It's SAM’s quiet reminder in his ear that has him eventually take a breath and nod his head slowly. Macen doesn't turn around as he stands up, but when Avitus puts a hand tentatively on his shoulder he reaches up to grip it.

“Hey,” Macen says, “see you later?”

“In every star,” Avitus murmurs, but it isn't part of the memory. He can't think what he really said: something mundane about dinner, or changing the humidity settings, or a hundred other tiny things he wouldn't have thought to appreciate at the time. He hopes his divergence from the script doesn't spoil how convincing the illusion is, doesn't throw the memory-Macen off balance.

Macen just smiles. “Sounds good,” he says, pleased with whatever it is he hears. 

“Sounds good,” Avitus echoes, and he keeps his hand on the solid real-but-not-real curve of Macen's shoulder as SAM extracts him from the memory, a slow fading out and piecing together of reality. The plants turn to empty shelves, the Presidium to the glow of the Nexus.

It feels right to let it end on this note. A quiet, ordinary moment. Of all the things SAM could've shown him, all the memories to be taken back to -

It's with a startling clarity that he knows he won't go back again, however many options SAM can offer him, however many memories he could be transported. Once was enough, just one last time from across the centuries and light-years between Andromeda and the way they were. For better or worse he is here now, in Heleus as the turian Pathfinder, SAM in his head and a system full of possibilities. 

He will always have the stars.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you SO much for your kind comments and support with this one, it has grown into something very very dear to me and it means a lot to share it. :') I have, as I've mentioned, broken my own heart a little (lot), but I do hope there is a sense of hope somewhere in here too. 
> 
> I have one chapter left to finish off, a little shorter, more of an epilogue than anything. (Hopefully a bit sooner than last time, oops.)


	4. iv.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An epilogue.

Avitus Rix checks the seals on his hardsuit with the practised efficiency of someone who's used to doing it without assistance, turning his head this way then that, running a metal jointed finger expertly over the chest plate seams. Hierarchy military protocol advises specifically against this, of course, but it's been a long time since Avitus answered to military protocol. He has his own routine now that's long since become second nature, so he barely registers he's doing it. No doubt the Initiative have similar protocols that's he's also flouting.

Satisfied his suit is airtight and performing as expected, he hits the airlock controls in front of him. Sure enough, it opens up to reveal a hull breach just big enough to give him an unimpeded view of the empty space outside the spacecraft, black and unforgiving but dusted with the soft light of the bright stars. Always beautiful, always deadly. He takes a few long moments to just admire the vista, then hits the airlock controls once more, and waits as the hum of the life support indicates the compartment behind him is slowly repressurizing.

A tinny voice in his helmet shakes him from his introspection, and he's startled to remember he has company. Another hard habit to break. “Anything your end, Rix?”

“Another breach on this side. Small, though.”

“Need a hand?”

“No,” he says automatically, and then thinks better of it. “Actually, you got another one of those things? Bring it over.”

“You got it, Pathfinder,” Taana says cheerily, and he forgets to object.

He walks over to the breach, magboots providing a familiar and comforting resistance as he raises each foot, and reaches round to the device attached to his back. He presses the button to extend the legs and places the now tripedal device on the floor, where its own maglocked feet attach firmly. It's one of the smaller ones left over from a day of patchwork repairs, but with Taana’s help it should be enough. He lifts his arm to begin the long process of configuring it with his omnitool but catches himself with a grin. Pathfinders perks.

“SAM, would you do the honors?”

“Of course, Pathfinder,” comes the reply, and SAM flashes up the dimensions of the breach on the display of Avitus’ helmet. “Another protective field will be necessary to fully cover this particular breach. Should I wait to activate the device until a second is available?”

“Go ahead with this one, SAM,” Avitus says, with a wave of his hand. “Taana won't be a minute.”

The device - he forgets what the asari call them, turians would just call this 'field patching’ regardless of the technology used, but the asari tech had been fussy about it - lights up obligingly, and after a moment the blue protective field starts to creep across the breach starting from the end closest to the generator. It zigzags efficiently around the uneven edges of the hull, forming a neat and reliable seal. Nothing that would hold up to any sort of real stress, but it'll make the ship space worthy until they can get a proper repair crew to do some more substantial work. It should stop any further damage, too, on the journey back to the Nexus. Or at least, that's the plan.

“Rix?” Taana's voice comes over the comms again. “Am I good to open the airlock?”

“Go ahead,” he says, and watches as the field reaches as far as the range allows, tendrils of blue flickering at the edge as they search for something to seal to. “We just need another one in here.”

“Got it, boss,” she says, and he turns to nod at her as the airlock seals behind her again. She takes another of the devices from her back and attaches it to the floor by the other side of the hull breach. “Last one?”

“Hopefully. SAM has one last place for us to check, then we can call them in.”

“Bring _Natanus_ home,” she says, and he can't see her expression in the helmet but she tips her head in his direction. “There was talk about using her for salvage, but I hear you had something to do with scrapping that.”

“Might have,” Avitus says, as the second field creeps up to join the first.

“Salvage,” Taana mutters, “can you imagine?”

“Her original purpose was always to help power the Nexus. Now that's not an option, I can see their thinking.” He can't, not really, but he feels a certain loyalty to his fellow Pathfinders, and even Tann to some extent. After all, they'd been willing to listen to his own sentimental solutions. Even more willing to allocate him the resources to make it happen. “It made sense just to move SAM, I suppose.”

“I hear they're making a museum,” Taana continues, and even with the helmet on he can tell she's giving him a sidelong glance. “I heard you might have had something to do with that, too. I heard that -”

“Seal complete,” he says, eyes on the readings on his helmet display. “SAM, can we repressurize?”

“It will be easiest to open the airlock, Pathfinder. Some of the environment controls are not functioning optimally.”

“Let's open it then,” Avitus says, and opens his omnitool to watch the readings in more detail. Hard not to pick up a little environmental and terraforming knowledge from Macen, but he's no expert. He can be sure it'll hold together for the time being, at least.

“You know I can't hear what SAM says, right?”

“Opening the airlock,” he says shortly, “environmental controls are damaged.”

“Of course they are.”

The airlock opens and everything holds, as expected. The readings from his omnitool indicate suitable oxygen levels.

“Pressure stabilized,” SAM says, and Avitus removes his helmet, Taana following suit.

He takes a breath, turns his helmet over in his hands absently. “I'm donating Macen’s locker and contents for an exhibit.”

“All of it?”

“Sure,” Avitus says, and shrugs. “I figured it'd be a good museum exhibit. The first turian Pathfinder.”

Taana half smiles. “That isn't you?” She's just teasing him, but he shakes his head firmly.

“He wasn't Pathfinder long, but in all the ways that count, he -” Avitus shrugs again. Time has smoothed out the edges of his own jagged emotions somewhat but hasn't made him any better at expressing them, or at acknowledging Macen's one last selfless act that he hasn't always been entirely grateful for. There’s grief, and there's still a little anger, and then there's guilt. The newer one is _responsibility_ , and he finds himself leaning more heavily on that than the others these days. “People need to remember.”

Taana reaches out to touch his upper arm, more of a tap than a squeeze in armor, but he understands the gesture well enough. “You know turians,” she says, “we love a good museum.”

“We certainly do,” Avitus says dryly, grateful for her gentle humor. “Dea’s locker as well, actually.”

“Didn't she cram hers full of horosk?”

“To the brim.”

Taana laughs. “Is that all going on display? Seems a bit of a waste.”

“They're antiques now. Worth thousands, probably.” Avitus gives her a look. “She’d promised me one when we got here, so…”

“Like I said,” Taana says, grinning, “seems a waste to lock it in a museum.”

“I thought so.” Avitus nods towards the corridor and she falls into step beside him. “Thought we could open it later, actually. To celebrate.”

“Celebrate what? _Natanus_ coming home?”

“Sure, that too.”

Taana frowns. “What else are we -”

“SAM can't get readings on the starboard grain storage,” Avitus says briskly, leading her down another corridor. “Last place to check.”

“We've lost grain?”

“No, the seeds were secured centrally in transit. This was supposed to be after arrival.” He gives her an amused look. “For storing surplus, if you can believe it.”

“Now there's a thought,” Taana says wearily, “surplus food, imagine!”

“We're getting there. They've had to freeze dry the first batch of some dextro crops on the Nexus because the yield was greater than the demand. Not a full range of grains, but it's a start.”

“You’re quite the hydroponics expert these days, Rix.”

“Can't help that I'm a celebrity,” Avitus says, “with all my horticultural contributions.”

Taana snorts. “Have you ever thought about putting your _celebrity status_ to better use?”

“What?” Avitus says distractedly, and then groans. “Please don't start naming all your single friends.”

“Only the good-looking ones.”

“Even so,” he mutters, and they turn the corner as Taana smirks.

“Pathfinder,” SAM says, “the grain storage is just ahead.”

“Thanks, SAM. We'll suit up and check it out.” He puts his helmet on and gestures for Taana to do the same, but she's just looking at him with concern tinged with exasperation.

“Come on, Rix, I'm just suggesting a date. I'm not asking you to enter a lifelong commitment -”

“Not interested.”

“Sure, and twelve months ago I let it go, but now? Still?” She makes her voice a little more gentle, which just makes him roll his eyes. “Don't you think it's time to move forward?”

“I _am_ moving forward. This -” Avitus gestures around them. “- _this_ is moving forward.”

“This is the _past,_ Rix.”

“That's the point, isn't it?” He's not angry at her. Maybe he would've been, once, but he sees her friendship for what it is, and her concern as a natural extension of it that means nothing more or less than the fact that she cares. They'd been friends mostly by proxy for a long time, but they've forged a new sort of friendship ever since their rude awakening on Havarl together. He can see clearly enough now to be grateful for it. “It's going to be a _museum_ , Taana,” he says dryly, “and if that isn't a heavy-handed metaphor for moving on, I don't know what is.”

That gets a laugh. “Right. Point taken. I just thought -”

“Look,” he says, “I appreciate it. But moving on looks different to different people, and this is - this is how it looks to me. I'm just -” He shrugs helplessly. “I'm just doing my job and making Heleus a better place to live.” He points at her helmet again and she lifts it up with a sigh, clicks it into place. “That's enough for me, okay?”

“I’m not trying to replace him.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“And I'm not trying to imply you need to find someone else to be happy. I just think it would be _nice_.”

Avitus gives her a look, though it's presumably lost somewhat through his helmet. “Nice.”

“Nice,” she says again, amused. “Because most people enjoy dating, you know. They think it's fun.” There's a pointed pause. “I think it's fun.”

“Good for you.”

“It's going pretty well for me, actually. You know, if anyone had thought to ask. Which they never do.”

Avitus takes the hint with a long, weary sigh. “How's your love life, Taana?”

“How kind of you to ask,” she says, and he can tell she's grinning broadly into her helmet. “I’ve been seeing this guy from life support, actually. It's going really well.” Avitus has just started checking his own seals when she takes over briskly, gesturing for him to turn around so she can check the back contacts too. He's too surprised to protest, and anyway, what is there to protest? His own lax safety procedures aren't something to dig his heels in about, especially not with Taana.

“Turian?” he asks, curious despite himself.

She runs her hands over the final helmet joint and then taps him twice on the shoulder, the signal to indicate it's all checked and good to go. It's funny that he remembers that. “Human, actually.”

“Scandalous.”

Taana turns around for Avitus to check the back of her hardsuit. “Aren't we a bit past that, out here?”

“You tell me.”

“I hope so.” Taana turns back around as Avitus finishes checking her suit and taps her on the shoulder. “That’s the point, isn't it? We left all that shit behind in the Milky Way.” Avitus laughs under his breath and she punches him on the arm. “I know you agree, Rix. You're an idealist.”

He laughs properly this time. “Well, I've definitely never been called that before.”

“The way I see it, two types of people signed up for this: opportunists and idealists. You're not an opportunist, and Macen would never have respected someone who didn't hold out some hope for the world to get a little better. Therefore -” She prods a finger at his chest. “Idealist.”

“Macen called me a cynic, actually.”

“You are,” she says fondly, and pats him on the arm again. “A cynical idealist.”

“A contradiction in terms, surely.”

“You said it yourself, you just want to do your job as Pathfinder. What does that make you if not an idealist?”

“Turian,” he tells her dryly. She rolls her eyes. “Besides, I wouldn't be here without Macen. Never would have joined if it wasn't for him, so maybe you need to consider a third category.”

“No one chases their boyfriend two million light years into another galaxy without a healthy dose of idealism,” she says softly, and it is, somehow, something he needed to hear. He hadn't expected that. “You're forgetting I followed him too, straight out of Blackwatch. Doesn't mean I didn't do it for my own reasons.”

Avitus ducks his head, not that she can really see his expression anyway. “Thanks,” he says eventually, though he's not sure exactly what he's thanking her for. He clears his throat. “Ready?”

“Yes sir, Pathfinder sir.”

“Don't do that,” he mutters, but Taana just laughs as SAM activates the airlock and they both step inside. “Looks intact. SAM, what's your readings look like?”

“Ship consistent pressure cannot be re-established. I will scan for micro tears in the hull.”

“Micro tears,” Avitus repeats, for Taana's benefit. "SAM's scanning."

“Never thought I'd be counting my blessings down on Havarl, but this is making me grateful we missed all those tedious repairs on the Nexus.”

“Was your human involved in all that?”

“Repairs yes, rebellion no.” She brushes a hand along one of the empty shelves, meant for surplus grain produced on their new home world. A stupid hope, really. A bolder dream than he can imagine having now. “He wasn't trained in life support until they woke him up out of cryo and gave him an abrupt promotion on account of there not being anyone else.”

“It happens.” Avitus lets out a dry laugh.

“He's adaptable, that's why I like him.” She pauses. “Well, that and he's great in bed.”

“I didn't especially need to know that, thanks.”

“Xenophilia is really opening doors for me,” Taana continues, enjoying his awkward discomfort. “You should try it -”

“SAM? Tell me you have an update.”

“I am detecting one micro tear in one of the storage compartments at the far end.”

“Just one?” Avitus opens his omnitool scanner and follows the directions SAM projects for him. “I'll take it. You got any sealant left?”

Taana passes her sealant but isn't to be deterred. “The thing about humans,” she muses, “is that I think they're all still afraid of us, at least a little bit. We intimidate them.”

“That… doesn't sound like a good thing.” Avitus crouches to locate the micro tear as instructed, pressing sealant carefully along the seams.

“Then you're not using your imagination enough.”

“You know,” Avitus says, watching the sealant expand and form a true seal, “when I requested your help on this one, being asked to imagine your sex life wasn't what I had in mind.”

“So why _did_ you ask me?”

He doesn't answer. “We good to go, SAM?”

“Pressure equalising, Avitus.”

“Thanks,” he says, and gestures for her to follow. “Let's head to the bridge. SAM, let them know we're ready.”

“Tow ship is in place and secured.”

The _Natanus_ is too damaged to make it to the Nexus entirely under her own steam, but an earlier visit with a small crew of mechanics confirmed that her FTL drive is still capable of moving her from one place to another, if at a slower pace than when fully repaired. In a galaxy without mass relays, that's all you can ask for.

 _Natunus’_ problem, however, is that her thrusters used for steering are out, so without repairs her propulsion ability is just that: aimless propulsion. It hadn't seemed worth carrying out the necessary repairs when the end goal was to hook her up to the Nexus for the foreseeable future, so they were using a tow ship to provide both the extra propulsion to bring her up to speed, and to stop her careering wildly off into space with no means of directional control.

Of course the Initiative - so thoroughly prepared in many ways but so alarmingly ill prepared in others - hadn't brought any tow ships, so they'd had to make a few on the fly retrofits. It left both the tow ship and _Natanus_ quite exposed, and Avitus had been sufficiently agitated about it during discussions that Ryder had volunteered her own ship as an escort in case of trouble. He'd taken the liberty of borrowing her usual pilot for the tow ship too, which went some way to easing his jitters about the whole thing.

He opens a channel to Ryder now, as Taana follows him to the bridge. “So,” he says, ”who's your stand in pilot, anyway? They're all over the place.”

Ryder laughs down the comm. “Shut up, Rix.”

“I'm just concerned for your well-being, Pathfinder.”

“You can't even see me!”

He grins and activates the airlock to the bridge. “I will in a moment, approaching the bridge now.” He turns back to Taana. “At your station, copilot. Power her up.” He knows she'll like the 'copilot'.

“Yes sir.”

“If it helps, Ryder,” Avitus says, “I've never flown anything quite like this before, either. We're learning together.”

“I'm not _learning,”_ Ryder says indignantly, “are you there now? Take a look outside and I'll do a roll for you, show you my finesse and control.” There's a loud chorus of 'no’ down the line, and he has to laugh.

“Booting up now,” he says, taking his place at a console and activating the external view that spans the whole of the bridge. Civilian opulence, he thinks, but with a certain amount of fondness. The Initiative threw a lot of money at the wrong things, as far as he's concerned, but the things they threw their money at are beautifully done. It's still one hell of a panaramic even with the tow ship obscuring most of it, cables trailing off in all directions where they're anchored to _Natanus’_ hull. He can see the _Tempest_ just above, and two other smaller ships flanking her. “Hey Ryder, who's the company?”

“Hayjer and Danali.” His fellow Pathfinders. “They wanted to come along, help out if they could.”

He hasn't always appreciated them. They're a disparate bunch, all of them where they are by unhappy accident. He liked Ryder best because she’s determined, but there has always been an element of feeling like they were similarly robbed. Andromeda promised so much but delivered death at the first corner. They've never spoken about it in these terms, but it's always been understood between them. The other two couldn't offer anything close to that, and so he wasn't interested in the things they _could_ offer: knowing the same weight suddenly placed on their shoulders, and the impossibility of the task ahead of them. Danali was too young, too green, too easily swayed. Hayjer was too detached, too slow to act, too deliberating. They'd just lost a colleague, and he'd lost so much more than that. He didn't think they were worth his time.

He'd been wrong about a lot of things.

“I don't know what to say.” Avitus removes his helmet, places it carefully on the console in front of him. “I… thanks, Ryder. For all your help.”

“Don’t mention it,” she says, warmth in her voice. “I'm still paying you back for saving my ass on Meridian. You ready to go?”

“Just give me a minute,” he says, and closes the line as he beckons Taana over. She pulls her helmet off.

“Problem?”

“Nope.” He reaches underneath the console and gathers up what he's looking for. “Just got something for you.”

Taana just watches, non-plussed, as he pulls out a bottle and two glasses. “What are you doing?”

“A toast,” he says, and holds up the bottle. “Seven hundred years old horosk, the last of its kind. I did promise we could celebrate.”

“Shouldn't we wait until we're docked before we start celebrating?” She holds the glass he offers her with a bemused expression. "Not that I think the repairs won't hold, but..."

“We're not celebrating that yet.” Avitus breaks the seal on the horosk with a wistful sigh and inhales deeply. “Spirits, smell that. Really puts all the moonshine the hotshots in hydroponics keep giving me to shame, but I guess they'll fine the process. Hopefully. Anyway, we're not celebrating _Natanus_ , but I'm open to continuing the party once we've docked, of course.”

“Avitus, what are you -”

“I'd like you to be my second,” he says, “to train you to be the new Pathfinder. If you want, that is.”

Taana blinks. “But I'm not even assigned to the Pathfinder team. I haven't got -”

“I've got Ryder's medical team on standby to fit your SAM implants before they leave the Nexus. You're not allowed alcohol in the post-surgery recovery period, so I figured we could celebrate now.” He holds the bottle up again. “Your promotion, that is.”

“I - I mean, I'd _love_ to, but surely there must be so many other people Tann would rather take this.” She gestures helplessly with her other hand. “I never received the training or anything. I didn't even apply for it in the end, not when there was already you and Jaen.”

“Trust me, the training didn't cover any of this,” he says wryly, and pours himself a shallow glass of horosk. They're still on the clock, after all, even if he doesn't have to steer. “You're more than proven yourself to me, I don't care what Tann thinks. So, are we celebrating?”

“Definitely,” she says, and holds her glass out with a grin. “I hope this doesn't mean you're looking to duck out of your responsibilities early, Pathfinder.”

“Not yet,” he says, “but one day. This isn't exactly what I had planned for my life in a new galaxy, you know.”

Taana watches him pour her some horosk with a soft expression. “And what did you have planned?”

“I suppose the couple's retirement prefab with a big garden is out.”

“Is it?”

Avitus looks at her for a long moment, then shrugs. He couldn't take Havarl, but now Eos is thriving, he thinks the long, hot days might agree with him. 

“Maybe not.”

“Chase your dreams, you could open Andromeda's first horosk brewery.”

“Tempting. I still need to train a replacement first, though.”

She smiles and salutes with the hand not holding her glass. “Reporting for duty, sir.”

Avitus taps his glass against hers and they both grin and take a drink. The console flashes to indicate _Natunus’_ FTL drives are engaged, and so he places his empty glass down and runs a hand over the controls.

"Alright," he says, looking ahead at the stars. "Let's bring her home."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so, so much to everyone who has followed and commented! I hope you enjoyed reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it :')

**Author's Note:**

> I have this pretty much finished so expect the updates reasonably quickly, there should be three full length chapters and then a shorter epilogue, of sorts. Writing this has involved me fully breaking my entire own heart, I love Avitus very much.
> 
> For the detail-oriented, I see Avitus being around 26 (hence six years older than Saren when he made Spectre) and Macen being around 24 in 2168 when they meet, and so this is pre-Blackwatch for Macen who's not technically out his mandatory first 15 years of service. (Avitus I figure kinda bent the rules, because that's what Spectres do.) This puts them in their earlier forties when they 'retire' to Andromeda.


End file.
